


something changed

by WrongSeason



Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: F/F, Five times plus one time, Flirting, Fluff, Science Girlfriends, The nickname is back because I’m soft, They Are Idiots, i love them your honour, this is only t because Marisa swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29381601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrongSeason/pseuds/WrongSeason
Summary: Five times Marisa Coulter feels something like affection for Mary Malone, and the one time she does something about it.
Relationships: Marisa Coulter/Mary Malone
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	something changed

**Author's Note:**

> Miss me? Course not. 
> 
> Anyway I hate this but I’m posting so I don’t chicken out! 
> 
> I hope you like it, and if you do please leave a comment! 
> 
> Title is Something Changed by Pulp.

i. 

Mary isn’t used to Marisa just yet. She’s been a member of the department for six months, but it somehow seems both much more and much less time. 

She’s assertive, brash, and oh so charming.

Everything Mary isn’t, really. But it’s not bad. Just different. Not for the first time, she finds herself in heated debate, soundtracked by a boiling kettle and a spoon clinking against a steaming mug. 

“But you have your _doctorate_ ,” Marisa argues, trying and failing to stop her voice rising. “You have your work recognised without argument. You haven’t had to _fight_.”

Mary scoffs, shakes her head.

“First of all,” she starts, cracking open the biscuit tin and sliding it across the counter after selecting her own. “You’re working towards your own doctorate now. You’ve had your work published, so your argument doesn’t stand.” She takes a bite out of her custard cream. “Second of all - I haven’t had it as easy as you think. I was the only girl on my course in my undergraduate, I had to fight constantly to get the same attention as my peers.

“There was this one time that we had an essay due. There was a guy who consistently scored higher than me for work that was equal to or less than mine. He handed my essay in, and I handed his in. Lo and behold he got the top grade in the class, and I got a passing grade. 

“They didn’t like me just because I was a woman.”

Well, that wasn’t the whole truth. But a conversation for another day. 

Marisa frowns, dunking a digestive into her tea. (Milk, two sugars, but she daren’t admit that to anyone but Mary. It’s black coffee if anyone else asks.) 

Mary picks her mug up, and turns to face Marisa fully. She places a hand on Marisa’s forearm, and Marisa wobbles forward imperceptibly. Mary takes another step closer, invading Marisa’s personal space in an unprecedented moment of bravery. 

“I understand your frustration. I know you think I’ve had it easy, but I haven’t. _Easier_ , maybe, but not easy. Just bear that in mind next time you want to lecture me on the men of your world. They’re the same in every world, my dear.” She winks at Marisa, leaving the kitchenette and a very flustered Marisa behind.

Marisa thinks she just might like her. 

ii.

“Do you like Thai food?”

“What?” Marisa questions, looking up at Mary from the paper she’d been grading. Dismal, as usual. 

“Thai food. Do you like it? It’s a yes or no question, Mars.”

Ah. The nickname. Marisa - secretly - quite likes it, but she still makes a point to frown every time it’s uttered. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had it,” she shrugs, and returns to marking. 

“So shall I just surprise you then?”

Marisa looks up again, frowning in confusion this time. She quirks an eyebrow in question at Mary, who’s sat illuminated by the lamp on her desk. She holds her phone up, not that Marisa can actually see what’s on the screen. 

“I’m ordering dinner, I just wondered what you fancied.”

Marisa can’t remember the last time someone bought her dinner just because. They always want something. But something about the way Mary squints at her screen over her glasses makes her think there’s no ulterior motive. 

The rumble from the physicist's stomach confirms her theory.

“Do they have…” she pauses, trying to think of the word. “Noodles? Yes, noodles would be good.”

She reaches into her bag for her purse, careful not to disturb a sleeping Ozymandias. 

“What do I owe you?”

“My treat,” Mary says, waving her hand dismissively. 

She smiles despite herself. 

iii. 

Mary spots Marisa nervously tugging on her robes, and runs over to catch her before the procession formally starts. 

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless. Her hands fall on the tops of Marisa’s arms and she squeezes reassuringly. Marisa smiles brightly in return, glad to know a familiar face will be watching in the audience. 

“Hey yourself,” she returns, half aware of the giddiness she feels. She tries to convince herself it’s due to the occasion and not the person standing in front of her. She fails spectacularly. 

“I just wanted to catch you before you went up. I’m really proud of you, y’know? _Dr._ Coulter.” She pulls Marisa into a hug, and Marisa places her hands somewhat awkwardly on Mary’s back. It’s been so long since she’s experienced affection of any kind that it makes her want to cry, but she’d curse Mary to hell and back if her make-up got ruined. 

She pulls away and clears her throat, trying to ignore the lump forming slowly at the back of it. 

“Well I couldn’t have done it without you, Dr. Malone.”

“Pleasure was all mine, Mars. Truly.”

When she smiles, Marisa smiles back.

“I better take my spot! See you up there,” she turns to walk off, but throws one last good luck smile at Marisa, who she swears is grinning from ear to ear. 

iv.

Marisa slides the pint across the table to Mary, nose wrinkling in disgust. 

“I still don’t understand how you drink that,” she grumbles, taking a sip of her whisky. Mary takes a drink of her own, and licks the white foam moustache from her top lip. She misses a spot, and Marisa reaches to swipe it away with her thumb before she can stop herself. 

“I’ll have you know, Guiness is a delicacy where I’m from!”

“Oh and where’s that? The land without taste buds?” Marisa rolls her eyes, but doesn’t really mean it. She wants to begrudge Mary for bringing out this side of her, but finds that she can’t. 

“Was that a joke, Mars?! You’ve been spending too much time with the chemists.”

“Ha, ha, very droll, Mary.” 

Mary raises her glass.

“Any _way_ ,” she tips the pint glass slightly until Marisa raises her own glass. “Here’s to you, delivering your first lecture and managing not to kill any of the first years in the process.”

They tap their glasses and drink again, Mary smiling cheekily over the top of her glass. 

“Let’s hope you don’t kill the third years tomorrow.”

Marisa scowls, but appreciates the humour nevertheless. Mary’s the only person that can get away with teasing her and not find themselves iced out for the foreseeable. 

Truthfully, Marisa finds it strange. She’s never got on with other women before. But Mary doesn’t seem out to get her. Seems to actually enjoy her company. And it’s nice. To have someone to talk to, to discuss work with who actually listens to her ideas, and doesn’t just dismiss her. 

Even Asriel took every opportunity he had to remind her of her place. 

But Mary _celebrates_ her. Her achievements. It tugs at her heart and she downs the rest of her drink, hoping the burn will make her forget whatever this feeling is. 

It doesn’t. 

v. 

“Oh, Jesus!” Mary jumps, hand covering her rapidly beating heart. She pulls the jar she was reaching for out of the cupboard, and holds it up. “Tea?”

Marisa nods. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“It’s fine, it’s just you’re so damn silent!”

She glances at the heels Marisa is wearing, toe gently arcing across the marble, and wonders how she manages not to clack her presence into notice. 

“How do you do that, by the way? The floors make noise when I so much as look at them.”

“Practice.” Marisa shrugs, and folds her arms across her chest, leaning against the doorframe. Mary Malone making tea should not be this unreasonably cute, she argues with herself. But she can’t stop watching Mary’s fluid movements as she makes two teas.

“What are you doing tonight?” She asks, handing Marisa’s tea over.

“Nothing,” she replies, blowing a steady stream of cool air onto her tea. 

“I’m going to catch that new cartoon movie if you wanted to join? The kiddos and my sister will be there, but I’m sure they won’t mind.”

When Marisa said nothing, she truly meant it. She’d planned an evening of sitting in darkness, trying to ignore her ever conflicting feelings towards Mary.

She wants to - _should_ \- say no. She doesn’t. 

“That would be lovely, thank you. But I insist you let me buy snacks, seeing as you keep buying dinner when we work late.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Mary shakes her hand and Marisa can’t help but laugh a little at the ridiculousness of the situation. 

As she heads back to her desk, she realises how screwed she is. 

+i.

Mary drives her home after the movie. It made her cry, and Mary protested that she had given her ample warning. But how was Marisa to know what _Pixar_ actually meant? 

They pull up outside Marisa’s apartment block, and Mary turns the engine off, following with the lights. She squeezes Marisa’s knee, and smiles softly at her in the low streetlight. 

“Thanks for coming tonight. It was nice to see you not in full work mode for once.”

“Thank you for inviting me, it was nice to get out of the house for something different.”

She looks up at her apartment, can briefly make out the outline of Ozymandias curled up in the windowsill. She doesn’t want to leave. Doesn’t want to disturb this peaceful silence. 

Mary breaks it by clearing her throat. 

“I should, uh-“ she starts, “I should get going. Early start and all.”

“Stay.” 

It’s quiet. So quiet that had there been any more noise she’s sure Mary wouldn’t have heard her. 

But she does. 

“Okay,” she sees Mary nod in the half light, before she turns to face her. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

Marisa prides herself on her patience. Oh knowing what to say or do and when. But they’ve been doing this dance for too long and she’s tired. 

“Mary, will you just fucking kiss me already?”

She laughs, but leans over the centre console to cup Marisa’s jaw and pull her in for a gentle kiss. 

“Better?”

“ _Fucking finally_ ,” she exhales.


End file.
